Prince Tipper

Let me cut to the chase: BE. MORE. DOG, for dog’s sake!

That’s what we learned from it.

By around 1:00 yesterday afternoon, I had resolved within myself that yesterday would be our last day, Tipper and I. He was exhausted, so we lay on the living room floor together for hours. When I called my mom, she was sleeping and groggy (it takes a long time for her to wake up and understand anything you’re saying). I found myself crying and screaming into the phone, “MOM! You’re not understanding what I’m saying! Tipper is going to be DEAD tomorrow. I just wanted to tell you in case you wanted to come say GOODBYE tonight.”

Lord have mercy.

I spent the day yesterday on and off the phone with the cancer clinic trying to decide whether I should have Tipper put down today at our appointment or to try to keep him comfortable for another week and a half when we have our next oncology appointment. God bless everyone at ACIC. They were on and off the phone with me all day, helping me find someplace I could take Tipper for an immediate CBC and results. My vet was filled and they didn’t have any doctors in today who could prescribe anything should there be a problem. We have an appointment for bloodwork at noon today, but when I called ACIC yesterday to tell them Tipper was lethargic and in so much pain he could barely move, they insisted I get the CBC immediately.

The CBC was fine. I knew it would be. (Trust your gut.) The doctor we finally did see about bloodwork and pain control gave us guidelines for increasing the pain meds.

We were home and settled by around noon, and I lay on the floor with Tipper most of the day yesterday, on and off the phone with ACIC. With the bloodwork fine, was there any point in waiting another week for our oncologist to get back into town? We had a chemo treatment last week, so was there even anything else we could do before next week? The oncology techs agreed that I couldn’t wait 6 more days with Tipper in pain. They tried contacting the oncologist who was out of town. She was LITERALLY in the middle of her daughter’s law school graduation ceremony. Ugh. The surgical techs finally suggested amantadine and managed to have it called  in to our pharmacy.

I spent the next several hours agonizing over whether or not to even pick up this new medicine, assuming it would be hundreds of dollars. Because really the bottom line is reconciling how much farther I will even go with treatments once the oncologist is back in town.

Finally, my mom called me around 3:30. I explained everything. I just can’t let him suffer. She told me she’d come over in the evening to say goodbye to Tipper.

No more than 20 minutes later, this dumb dog brings me his tennis ball!

I finally decided that even if he’s only going to be here one more night, I’d like it to be as little pain as possible. I picked up the new medicine. It only cost $32. (Kicking myself!)

When my mom drove up, Tipper jumped up and ran to the door. He chased his tennis ball for her. He ran to the door to watch her drive away. Dumb dog! And, with the amantadine, we finally had a smooth, yelp-free sleep.

While he was groggy and hesitant to get out of bed this morning, he sprung into action when his little brother Logan ran by with a bone. He ate heartily. When he heard me pick up a collar to put it away, he demanded a walk. He’s lying here by my side (I’m working on the floor) and won’t let me stop petting him for too long.

So, I don’t think today is going to be the day.

I’d like to fool myself into thinking that additional treatments of anything would improve his situation. I think we are beyond just slowing down the disease. I think that window has closed. But, our regular vet and our oncologist are both positive, hopeful, and empathetic people. Dr. Rogerson keeps reminding me that Tipper doesn’t know he’s got cancer. That’s a hang-up people have. Tipper just knows the moment.

So, while my mind wants to be filled with making decisions about metronomic therapy or palladia or radiation or just letting go, Tipper just wants me to be present. And so, for now, I resolve to let go and let dog.

 

Mom wants me to take it easy on my back,but here’s my tennis ball and I’M BORED! Whinewhimpersniffle.

 

 

 

 

Things that are hard to believe: 

1. My last post was way back in February.
2. At that time, we were celebrating 4 month ampuversary (only 4 months?)
3. Yesterday was Tipper’s SEVEN month ampuversary! Holy Cow!
4. We did not write to celebrate our sixth and final chemo treatment in April.
5. The cancer is back – in spite of the terrific “probable remission” designation on our previous couple of reports.

Things that are awesome:

1. I’m taking this in stride. Much moreso than I thought I ever would. Tipper is a great teacher in the zen of dog.
2. It’s not arthritis in Tipper’s spine like we thought. It’s cancer…sooo… why is this “good”? It’s not good. Definitely not good. Especially considering there’s also a lung lesion. However, we CAN do something about this to at least maybe, temporarily, REDUCE the tumor and reduce the pain. With arthritis, it can only get worse.
3. Our oncologist, Dr. Obradovich. And everybody else at ACIC in Canton. Awesome.

After losing my lab Lexy to hemangiosarcoma in Dec. 2013, I promised myself I won’t ever, ever let my fur babies – current and future – suffer the way she suffered. Her diagnosis came late. In hindsight, it took too long for my brain and my heart to catch up to reality. She suffered just a few days longer than was acceptable now that I look back. I should be more forgiving of myself; we all do the best we can. At any rate, I definitely do not want that for my Tipster Doodle.

CHANGING PERCEPTIONS – 

Originally, the plan was to go for the standard of care – amputation and 6 chemo treatments – and then let go and let God. A few weeks ago, Tipper’s first post-chemo x-rays showed irregularities, both of which had grown by the time we had this week’s visit. While I’m working on acceptance, it’s hard not to fall under the spell of Dr. Obradovich’s optimism. When I asked her if I should forego treatment and do my best to help him keep comfortable, she was adamant that we’re not at that stage right now.

Money is tight. Money is very, very tight. But, as I heard another client say at the clinic the other day, “You can’t take it with you.” Fortunately, my teaching job allows for extra summer work. I’ll forego some of my usual fall expenditures on clothing and books for my classroom. I don’t want to have to make decisions for Tipper that are limited by money, but I’m not a complete ding dong.

Even with money out of the equation, I struggle with the idea of continuing treatments. I didn’t even opt for metronomics after our last chemo treatment. But now, it seems unfair to Tipper to NOT do everything possible to help him feel well while he rides out his disease. He’s still a healthy, happy camper. His back hurts (stupid tumor), but that’s not preventing him from bolting to the window or racing the perimeter of the fence when he suspects a passer-by. He wants to play ball – he just doesn’t always want to actually go very far to fetch it. He’s enjoying all the things he’s always enjoyed, albeit at a slightly slower pace at times. And sometimes an ouch yelp if we overdo it. He begs for food by lifting himself up to paw me with his one front leg. He wakes me up in the middle of the night for treats. He tricks me into letting him outside just so he can come back in and get a treat. He begs at the cupboard for food. He begs at the refrigerator for the tennis balls I “hide” up there when I’ve had enough of them. He makes it impossible for me to talk on the phone without tossing a ball for him outside.

On the other hand, is it unfair to keep piecing him back together just to put off the inevitable? My gut is divided on this one. 🙁 While the “probable remission” diagnosis a few months back had me hopeful, I still accept that every day is a gift. Where’s the line between giving positive, palliative care and knowing when to stop? Right now, it seems like going ahead with another chemo treatment or two, if it’s helping reduce the new bone tumor, is going to help Tipper feel better. He’s handled treatments like a champ thus far. And, it sounds like there are still many palliative options that can keep him going like a champ for a while.

Dr. O is convinced that since he’s been such a trooper and is still strong and healthy, there are many options ahead to slow down the spread of things. So far, though, it sounds like she’s defining “success” as a few months.

Again, my gut is still divided. The one thing I can’t do is nothing.

 

4 months!

 

 

 

 

 

And that’s all we’ve got to say about that! 🙂

 

A View From Tuesday.

 

Trick question. But seriously… How many legs does the black dog in the video use? Can you tell? I know, right?

Tipper absolutely embodies life spirit. Nothing keeps him from doing exactly what he wants to do. He is amazing. This dog has been teaching me life lessons since the day I met him, and I don’t think he’s anywhere close to finished with me yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This amazing dude – the paw is too sore to support weight, so he is literally moving on two legs. Running on two legs. And if you didn’t know it, you might not even notice it. In the meantime, I am monitoring every motion  and praying he doesn’t injure either of those two legs.

Keeping the wound clean and dry has been a battle. Making my boy wear the cone is heartbreaking, and I just need to get over that. We are flushing out the foot once a day. Thin baggies – the freezer burn protection ones – have been a Godsend. The go on loosely and stay on with some blue painter’s tape, at least long enough for him to go outside for his business. (We do not keep it on inside.)  This has been helpful in this rainy, muddy weather we’re having. We’re waiting for the disposable rubber boots to arrive, but I’m getting the feeling that Tipper isn’t going to allow me to squeeze his sore foot into one.

We’re really taking it moment to moment this week. I’m grateful to be off work for a couple of weeks. Our 10-day blood work was good, at least. We go in for lung checkup and for chemo #4 next week. Praying that this foot – which looks infected this morning – does not get in the way of next week’s treatment.

Headed back to our vet this afternoon. At least they can flush it out. Hoping maybe an antibiotic could help – and not interfere with chemo. At least the tech there will be able to get his poor footsie tootsie flushed out and cleaned better than I can at home.

For now, we’re tromping out and about with a Baggie on feet and a prayer in our hearts!

*Sigh.

This dog impresses the heck out of me. He just wants treats, tennis balls, CONSTANT attention and petting (which I’m giving nearly round the clock – he deserves it!), and for me to stay away from that foot!

I love you, Tipper Doodle.